


The Real Life of Jack Christian

by bootson



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Get Together, M/M, Secret Identity, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootson/pseuds/bootson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris writes novels on the side and under a pseudonym. He finds out Zach’s a fan and pesters him constantly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Real Life of Jack Christian

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/trek_rpf_kink/2887.html?thread=2985031#t2985031) at [](http://trek-rpf-kink.livejournal.com/profile)[**trek_rpf_kink**](http://trek-rpf-kink.livejournal.com/). Thanks to [](http://chellealistic.livejournal.com/profile)[**chellealistic**](http://chellealistic.livejournal.com/) for beta duties.

  
****[Prologue]****   


  


Jack Christian is an author. He’s probably not going to be hitting the New York Times best sellers list anytime in the near future, but he has shorts in several different literary anthologies, four novels on the shelves and the fifth making its way to bookstores and Amazon.com. The critics are semi-impressed by him, but not enthralled enough to drum up intense sales figures. He has a blog to stay connected with the small but devoted group of readers he’s acquired over the past ten or so years. Those same readers have a message board where they can discuss the characters, themes, and plots of these novels and also ask Jack questions semi-directly. They’ve learned, through trial and error, that he just won’t answer personal questions and no one could pick him out of a line-up on account of never having seen the man. No one knows why. They also have no clue why he vanishes, sometimes for months, without much warning.

Chris Pine is an actor, even if he didn’t originally plan to be. He’s done a lot of useless romantic comedies, but they’ve paid the bills. His success was moderate at best until he managed to get a second audition for Captain James T. Kirk. Things went a little crazy after that, what with promotional tours and paparazzi. He doesn’t have an overtly noticeable internet presence, but no one seems to mind. People follow him and women (some men) fawn over him. There are more doors open for him than there ever have been before, but he likes to try to be normal. His friends are aware of his love for the theater and keeping his private life just that. Everyone knows what kind of car he drives and which shirts are his favorites. It’s annoying, but he has a good thing going here, so he doesn’t complain too loudly.

Chris likes to write. It’s not a well-publicized factoid, but it’s true. Various friends may have stumbled across a short story here or there but they don’t know how many of those have been published; Jack’s readers do, though.

Clearly, these two people are not mutually exclusive.

  


****[1]****  


Melodrama wasn’t exactly Chris’ forte. He was prone to it, however, when he had a million things to do and too little sleep. But if he wanted sleep he had to cut back on memorizing lines or “bonding” with the Trek cast. The bonding was possibly as important as the lines even if they were all already a nice little fellowship (and that joke had earned him a head slap from Karl but it had been _so_ worth it). Still, on the rare days he had off, Chris had a completely separate life to lead. Chris wasn’t going to lie, say he wasn’t going to enjoy this downtime, even if he knew it was only a few hours, until he dived back into a world only he was privy to.

Luckily, he didn’t have _exact_ deadlines, no expected word counts and a specific amount of chapters. His agent doubled for both career choices and the woman was a genius. She made sure he could be the actor he was known as, or would be, while also being able to do the writing he was so in love with. Honestly, he may not need as long as he’d sworn; the first chapters were already okayed and more in depth than his editor had expected, giving him time to play. Nevertheless, his fingers were itching, having been away from a keyboard for entirely too long.

Chris was just opening the 105 pages he’d already agonized over, on late nights and between takes, when he was buzzing too much to sleep and narrative was coursing through his mind. He was starting to fall into the point he wanted to make, the characters devised to orchestrate an actual theme while taking on lives of their own, when he was distracted. His front door slammed and shoes hit the tile with a thud before heavy footsteps grew steadily louder.

Maybe he should have been alarmed, a normal person would have called the police or grabbed a baseball bat. Chris, on the other hand, knew exactly who it was and knew he’d be found before too long.

“Are you Googling yourself again?” Zach asked, throwing himself onto the futon that took up the space not occupied by his desk. “ _Please_ let me redo your office. I’ll do it when you’re out of town, if that’s easier.”

It was no hardship for Chris to pull his eyes away from his screen to rake them over Zach’s long form, always a good past time, thanks. Granted it was inappropriate on several levels (they were friends, they were costars, Chris had a girlfriend), but looking never hurt anyone.

“I like my office. Touch it and I’ll cut your hair in your sleep. Then shave the rest of your eyebrows, make it easier for the makeup girls.” He didn’t tell Zach it was because he couldn’t _write_ in his bedroom and sometimes it was too much effort to walk that far when he had stayed up tapping out a whole arch in one sitting.

“Idle threats.”

“Try me.”

Zach considered this, decided he didn’t want to risk it and flopped over onto his side. “I’m bored. Let’s do something.”

“Like what?” Even if Chris was slipping into the writing mindset, he wasn’t too far gone to blanch at the thought of a Zach-themed distraction.

“Don’t care. We can watch _Doom_ , let you drool over Karl properly.”

“I do not drool.” Chris glanced almost longingly at the text before him while Zach silently climbed to his feet to inspect a bookshelf. “Commentary from the gallery?”

“None. Just taking cheap shots.” Zach was starting at the bottom of the shelf, as was his way, giving Chris the opportunity to covet his ass. “If you’re going to fanboy someone, Urban’s at least a good choice.”

“Good. You know how I live for your approval.”

“I never give it freely.”

Chris threw a pen at him, but was ignored when Zach reached the top corner of the first case. “Why isn’t this part alphabetical?”

“Huh?” Chris squinted across the room and tried to think fast. There wasn’t a reason not to let Zach in on the secret, none other than habit, but it was an old habit and Chris was still a bit nervous about his writing falling into the hands of people he knew. “Oh. I don’t know. Didn’t seem to fit.”

“You have these four completely separated out. What, Christian’s not good enough to hang with your classics? You put Stephen King and Dean Koontz in there.” He made it sound as if he’d been personally affronted, which was so far beyond hysterical that Chris couldn’t think straight for a moment or two.

Coughing a laugh, Chris partially agreed but didn’t commit to the view. Wasn’t it a bit pretentious and conceited to put your own books in amongst the likes of Hemingway and Forster? Sandwich your own jazzed up mysteries somewhere between the used, college book store copies of Bronte and Dickens? Yes, he thought.

“I just pulled them out of a box, been too out of it to re-organize.”

“I’ll do-“

“Fuck off, Zach. I know you’re just trying to get alone in here to destroy my futon.” He closed his laptop carefully before standing to stretch the kinks out of his back. “Come on, I’m getting food. You can amuse me in the mean time.”

“I came so you could amuse _me_. This is the first completely off night I’ve had in a month, humor me.” But he was following anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Chris threw the best contrite look he could manage over his shoulder. “I always forget you’re building the Quinto Empire.”

“Hey!” Zach shoved his shoulder but Chris was prepared enough not to be swayed. “I’m planning for the future when my looks fade or I’m outed and Hollywood is through with me. You should consider it.”

“What? A back-up plan? Why do you think I went to Berkeley?” Chris knew he was sounding petulant and the degree had been Plan A, but he’d had this conversation with Zach on several occasions. “Offers are already lining up. I pull this off and I’m golden.”

“It’s not going to last forever,” Zach unnecessarily pointed out while Chris started digging through cabinets for spaghetti sauce.

“Spaghetti or grilled cheese and soup?”

“Spaghetti with cheap sauce, I guess.” He turned to grab peppers from the refrigerator. “Really. What are you going to do if your next movie flops and… non-Trekkies lose interest?” Everyone knew better than to insinuate Chris wouldn’t be well received as Kirk; Zach thought he was brilliant but Chris still got nervous enough about the negative feedback for it to affect him for days after he stumbled across any of it.

“I’ll do a spread for _Playgirl_.” Chris turned from retrieving pots from a cabinet and let his mind wander back to the bookshelf Zach had been investigating and the manuscript a third finished on his laptop. He was ready to be mocked for anything, anything other than his novels and not by his best friend.

The disapproving glare was on Zach’s face again, so typical. And there were only two ways to remove it, one involving a sigh and the other an indistinct reaction. Chris chose the sigh and earned it by changing the subject. “Chop the peppers; I’ll grab the onions.”

  


****[2]****  


That futon Zach hated with such a fiery passion was actually pretty comfortable and Chris had crashed there with the next morning’s rewrites clutched in his hand. He’d overslept and barely made it to set by his call time. He was in makeup getting bruised when Zoë tracked him down.

“Don’t you usually show up a half foot behind Zach?” She tossed herself back in a chair to get her nails touched up, apologizing profusely for chipping the polish on a Coke tab.

Chris grumbled eloquently but noncommittally and tried not to burrow in his seat and get his hair pulled.

“Are you hung over?” She smirked into the mirror, meeting Chris’ eyes before he looked away.

“No. Tired. Up late working. Some of us do that, right?”

“Aw, baby, you’re so cute when you’re snippy.” Zoë cooed and thanked the polish wielding woman before hopping to her feet with unnecessary grace considering the unholy hour. “Want some words of wisdom?” She didn’t wait for an answer; Chris hadn’t expected her to. “To be early is to be on time; to be on time is to be late; to be late is unacceptable.”

“Thanks, J.J.”

Her giggles followed her out and the people around him smirked before making him look as beat up as possible without actually hitting him with a blow dryer or something, though he did think they were tempted. When he was sent on his way, he was still fighting the desire to rub his eyes. The Visine wasn’t a cure-all and he definitely looked like he’d had a late night of raunchy activities that weren’t in text format, as the case actually was.

Some lighting issue was pushing them all back and Chris breathed a sigh of relief. Spinning on his heel, he searched the immediate area for where his chair or partner in crime had been stationed for the day. He saw Zach first, buried behind a hardback book. His brain was still telling him to just sit down and keep quiet while it processed the fact that it was acting without caffeine, but he still managed to note that this was odd.

Zach with a book was typical, but he hated hardbacks on principle. They were “irrationally overpriced” and “too hard to keep up with.” Chris was inclined to agree, but getting books published in hardback made you change that stance a bit. Heaving a sigh, Chris shuffled his way over to Zach, eyeing the plain navy blue back-cover and basic white text.

When he was a few feet away, Zach held up an extra insulated cup and Chris could have kissed him. “Have I told you-“

“Lately that you love me? Yes. Every other day when I enable your addiction.” Zach looked up and smiled, dog-earing his page to mark it. The state of the book suggested this was pretty common. Reaching out, he dropped a hand on Chris’ shoulder, thumb rubbing his neck.

Chris sighed and melted into the chair beside him, turning to give Zach a better angle. “Don’t fold pages, it’s disrespectful.”

Even without looking, Chris saw the eyeroll. “I bought the book; I can do with it as I please.”

“I’m making you a bookmark,” Chris promised. He sipped the coffee, savoring the psychosomatic effects as he swallowed and leaned closer to the other man.

“Will it have glitter and swirly letters?”

“Considering my affinity for glitter, of course.” He grinned halfheartedly when Zach chuckled. Normally, Zach could improve Chris’ mood with a couple words and a shoulder bump, but Chris was still too busy chastising himself for running late.

“You look rough. What’s up?” The hand on Chris’ shoulder vanished. He only _just_ held back a whine but Zach’s arm landed on the back of the chair so Chris turned to look at him.

“I’ve been strangled no less than three times for this scene. I’m supposed to look this way.”

Biting his lip, Zach stared at him, studying. As expected, Chris looked away first. Whenever Zach watched him for too long, Chris had to divert his attention even if he didn’t necessarily want to; it was the same with creating distance whenever they touched a smidge too much.

“I was up late. Trying to learn lines and remember blocking.” He took another drink as a distraction.

“Chris,” Zach’s voice was warm, indulgent. “You’ve got this down. Don’t worry so much.”

“Someone has to.”

“Let J.J. and Paramount do it. Your job is to show up and act like you own the world. You’re good at that.” Chris nearly spilled his drink down Kirk’s black shirt (which would have meant hell to pay) when Zach nudged his shoulder to rock his body over a little.

When his lips quirked just a bit, Zach’s grin turned triumphant. Before he knew it, Zach wrapped his arm around Chris shoulders and pulled him closer. Their eyes caught and Chris got the distinct impression that Zach was trying to figure something out, read him. What discovery he was seeking was a mystery but Chris suddenly didn’t want him to hone in on anything too specific, which was weird since he told Zach everything already.

Nearly.

Chris licked his lips and watched Zach following the motion before catching his eyes again. Suddenly, the tension was a little much, too serious and charged when compared to their usual banter. He thought about making an excuse, running off to learn to breathe again, but that meant losing the heat coming off Zach’s body and hiding from the intent attention Zach was centering on him. The only option left was diffusion; Chris glanced around wildly, seeking an escape that didn’t involve distance and breathing room.

“What’s this anyway? Finally break down and buy a real book?” He asked, catching sight of the book still on Zach’s knee.

Before anything could be said, Chris snatched it. Flipping it over, he froze. The cover was a lake scene, well after twilight with a green tint fading into the navy that covered the back. In ostentatious, raised font was Chris’ own pseudonym and the title of his last novel _Travesties of Character_.

“You own a Jack Christian novel?”

“I own all four,” Zach shrugged, pulling his arm away to take his book back. “I wanted to reread it after I saw them on your shelf.”

Here was an opening, gracefully provided by some higher power for him to A. come clean or B. make a snarky comment about how he’d thought mysteries were below Zach. What came out was:

“You’ve read them more than once?”

Zach tilted his head, examining the slightly gaping jaw and furrowed eyebrows which combined to form a generally perplexed expression.

“Yeah,” he spoke slowly, reaching for his script when Chris kept staring. “The mystery is a front, damn interesting, but hiding a lot. They’re pure satire once you catch the nuance.”

“You _analyze_ these things?” Maybe he was imagining it, but Chris thought his own voice was nearly an octave too high; he cleared his throat to remedy that.

“Have _you_ read them more than once?”

Answers were required with direct questions, but Chris was drowning in his own head. Here was Zach, his overly intellectual friend, a man who flaunted his vocabulary for shock value, actually reading things _he_ had written. He actually _enjoyed_ what Chris wrote and maybe, there was a distinct possibility, that he actually _understood_ the themes Chris hid behind every plot device he had ever read about. Well, fuck.

His face was burning, ears ringing, and all Chris could hear through the white noise in his head was a question. _What did Zach think?_ Did he see the double view? Did he realize there was no cohesive style from one novel to the next? Did he know _Jack Christian_ had a fifth novel in the works?

A snap in front of his face brought him back. “Chris? Are you sick? You look sick.”

Literally shaking himself, Chris met brown eyes, lighter with concern.

“What? No. I’m fine. I’ve…read them several times. Kind of obsessed over each one for a while.”

Why was he being so damn ambiguous? Chris couldn’t quite work out why he didn’t just shrug, smirk, say “Yeah, I kind of wrote them. Thanks for the coffee.” It had to be the reputation. He didn’t actively create one around Zach, but he’d definitely crush his friend’s world view with a comment like that. So he kept quiet and thanked God when someone came to usher them onto the set proper.

If Chris flubbed a few lines and missed his mark, no one seemed to think it was because he was too busy worrying over what Zach thought of a book.

  


****[3]****  


By lunch, Chris was back to his typical easygoing temperament. Having gotten over his self-irritation for being late, he let himself pretend to be Kirk for a while and goof off between takes. He also shoved the apprehension over Zach owning his books away. What good would it do to be in a fit over something so ridiculous? None. So, instead he turned his anxiety into blatant interest.

This was a valuable opportunity. His editor was paid to force him into decisions and keep him on task, but her commentary centered on typos and seamless plotlines. His family would praise anything he did, as would his friends, presumably. But he trusted Zach’s opinion, had since their first real conversation. Their views were similar, yet varied enough to keep things interesting. Their debates were on-going and heated but never bled over into argumentative territory. Nonetheless, they were still close friends and most people would forgo honesty in the interests of making their friend happy. If Zach didn’t know these were his but realized they had a shared interest, he’d discuss them, be candid. This could definitely work.

He’d just grabbed a sandwich that promised to be bland when he saw Zach disappearing toward his trailer. Sometimes he did this if he was in a horrid little mood or had something he desperately wanted to do, like return phone calls or nap. Chris was going to follow him, knowing he wouldn’t get glared at the way John did when he intruded, but was detained by Anton.

“What’s with you today?” He was chewing loudly on a handful of Ruffles, but still spoke clear enough.

Chris stopped short, glancing between the direction Zach had gone and the boy talking to him. Sighing, he turned. “Uh…I overslept.”

“Not that. You got over that,” the blond gave a dismissive gesture. “We took a poll. Zach says you were all tense and shit earlier. Zoë says you were grumbling and that’s Karl’s job. Now you’re back to normal. Something going on?”

These antics weren’t atypical. When someone was off for an undisclosed reason, the others communed and nominated someone to investigate. Anton apparently drew the short straw.

“I don’t know, man. Just one of those days.”

“Pressure getting to you?”

Shrugging, Chris fought the urge to agree. “Nah.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“What?”

“Girl trouble? Boy trouble? Zach being all weird?” Anton shoved a few more chips in his mouth, probably to keep from letting anything else slip.

Chris reached out and tousled his hair, trying to ignore the weird line of questioning. Seemingly, Anton needed to watch more cop shows and learn proper interrogation techniques. “I’m fine, man. I don’t have time for _seriously_ dating and I never have issues with Zach.”

He trotted off before Anton could swallow and keep him any longer. A halfhearted knock later, Chris stepped into Zach’s trailer and flopped back onto the sofa. “What’s up?”

Zach was in the midst of chewing so he waved the book to indicate his plans.

“Where are you?” He took a bite and leaned into Zach’s shoulder, scanning the page to catch which portion of the book Zach had made it to. It was the biggest plot-twist in the thing and Chris grinned.

“The best part. Do you remember this?” Zach turned, letting Chris slide more of their torsos together.

Chris nodded, focusing on his sandwich and telling himself he wasn’t snuggling. “Mmhm. Where Samantha gets lost in the airport because she’s an idiot.”

“She’s not an idiot,” Zach countered immediately. “She’s trying to multitask, think four steps ahead.”

“Like chess,” he hid his smile behind his water bottle. Maybe it was wrong, but he was prodding just enough for his friend to keep talking. This wasn’t a lie, not _really_ , just an omission.

“Exactly. I knew you’d get this, even if you separate them from the rest of your bookshelf.” For the sake of convenience, Chris ignored the barb. “It’s Murphy’s Law and there isn’t a clear better option. I don’t care who you are, if you put yourself in her place, any choice you make is wrong.”

“That’s why it repeats and Adam takes the second option.”

“Exactly!”

Chris sniggered when Zach’s face lit up. Seeing Zach excited about something was one of Chris’ favorite things; knowing he’d caused it on two separate levels was the icing. And, yes, he acknowledged the extra consideration he gave to the reactions he had to Zach. No, he wasn’t going to mention them aloud.

They lapsed into silence, Zach reading while he ate and Chris fiddling with a script when his sandwich was gone. Zach shifted, arm wrapped around Chris’ neck to hold them together and turn pages. It was comfortable, easy, the way they always were.

Their break was nearly up, so Chris started to move from his place against Zach’s side. Pressure on his forearm drew Chris’ eyes to Zach’s face. Those ridiculous eyebrows were furrowed, as if he was just as surprised about the move; Chris smirked.

“Yeah?”

“Hold on. I’ll come with you.” Licking his lips, Chris nodded and watched as Zach used an old receipt to mark his page.

“I vastly approve of your new bookmark.”

A shrug – and, was that a blush? Chris couldn’t be sure, it was warm in the trailer – met the response. “You’ll grumble and pout until I give in.”

“What is with the accusations today?” Chris huffed, kicking at Zach’s shoe before heading for the door. “Is that why you generally acquiesce to my demands?”

“Something like that.”

  


****[4]****  


Filming wrapped not long after and everyone went their separate ways for a while. Other projects, family, significant others, lists of things that always went neglected when filming something came creeping in.

Chris had enough down time to finish his book, but he didn’t have the drive. He was still texting Anton regularly, emailing Zoë nearly constantly, and seeing Zach at least every two days. Things hadn’t changed too terribly much and it kept Chris’ head in the wrong environment. But he forced it out. Overall, he was pretty pleased with what he was doing, knowing more of his actual life and world views were seeping into the narrative. His editor noticed and pointed out the holes, where the transitions were choppy, ripped apart where he nearly switched tenses because he was becoming the narrator when he shouldn’t be.

He felt like he was back in Intro to Written English and it irritated him just enough to make him think, spur him on until he was missing calls and forgetting non-working plans. But he finished. He sent everything he had on its way and ignored the ending that was so open he was ready to fight to the death to keep it. His editor was taking longer than usual, forcing Chris to find ways to distract himself from the usual nerves involved with impending judgment.

So he checked out his message boards, reading over the debates and laughing at some of the more outlandish ones. His favorite thread, however, was always the one that asked who he was. Oh, Jack Christian’s readers knew better than to ask _him_ , but they always had a new theory amongst themselves. Thus far, on the newest thread for the topic, there were five different theories.

The most laughable was that he was a Stephenie Meyer using a pseudonym; Chris had nearly choked on his soda when he’d read that. The most outlandish was that he was a psychologist or some other intense professional that couldn’t have his good name tarnished by a publication that wasn’t backed by the scientific method. Someone came pretty damn close, convinced he was a politician who didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention. There were a few people sure he wasn’t using a false name, just trying to keep his life private; that one led to a list of paranoid nonsense that had less to do with him than it did conspiracy theories in general.

God, Chris loved these people.

He’d left them abandoned for too long. Instead of revising the edited chapters that were slowly trickling in, Jack left a message, promising the next novel was on the way. He made the claim that it would be in a style more closely related to the nearly stream-of-consciousness of the first, involve the coming-of-age theme from the second, the confusion of the third, and ambiguity of the fourth. They were impressed.

Chris called Zach an hour later, still laughing over the Stephenie Meyer thing.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“No.”

“I will anyway.”

“I had my suspicions.” Zach’s laughter was warm across the line even if Noah’s barking nearly drowned it out.

Chris soldiered on, fairly certain Noah was trying to rouse Harold from a perch from which he couldn’t nudge at the cat with his nose. One day, Chris was convinced, Harold was going to get fed up and dive bomb the dog, claws at the ready.

“Who do you think Jack Christian is?” Unconsciously, Chris bit at his much abused nails, waiting, wondering.

“I don’t know,” he answered immediately. They’d gone over each novel, in reverse order even though it drove Chris insane, and Zach had indulged him with commentary through each one. The first was his least favorite, coming across as pushier than the others and feeling childish by comparison. “I thought it was like that whole J.D. Robb-Nora Roberts thing, like maybe it’s some other guy’s way of playing with his medium without losing his fanbase. The style varies enough, like he’s experimenting, but he knows what he’s doing or no one would let him do it. I can’t figure it out; I think that’s why I like his books so much. There’s just as much mystery around him as there are in the books. Why?”

“No reason,” Chris mumbled around his thumb nail.

A long suffering sigh came across the airwaves. “We’re getting your nails done. I’m sick of you biting them.”

“No manicures or polish.”

“Whatever, we’ll see.” Giving in wasn’t Zach’s style; Chris knew they’d revisit the topic again. “Oh, hey, did you get the itinerary for the press tour?”

“Yeah. It’s already making my head spin.” They both knew it would change fifty times before they were actually heading around the world. Everyone’s people would get involved and demand different things, change the time of this to accommodate that. Enough time remained for an entirely new one to be sent around, but this would be the general time frame. Someone somewhere was courteous enough to keep them all in the loop.

They dropped the topic, refusing to mention the plans that would change, and glossing over fourteen more before it was all said and done. By then, Zach was half asleep, but refusing to hang up until he heard the rest of the story about how Kat had knocked the mirror off his car, on both sides, trying to parallel park.

  


****[5]****  


Revisions were a writer’s nightmare. Chris was constantly changing things, even if it was something as small as an adjective, even before he received professional input. Once he had the notes, he went even more intense with it. It made him reclusive, avoidant.

Beau had seen Chris through two of these cycles (counting this one) without knowing it. Ironically, when she said she wanted a break, Chris hadn’t cared. This was typical, wasn’t it? She’d become disgruntled with the lack of attention when something occupied his time and the ill-tempered comments Chris barked when he actually bothered to answer his phone. He made time to venture out for coffee and do the crossword, but that was nearly where it ended. So she would whine, Chris would shrug, she’d bitch about his indifference, and they’d back away for a bit.

Normally, Chris moped for at least a week when this happened, mostly on principle because they always swore it would be different and it never was. This time, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care. His life was too good. It felt like this novel was going to go places the others hadn’t and Chris had to ensure perfection, if possible.

Still, he made time to help his sister paint three rooms and send Karl links to ridiculous internet comics. He answered every call from Zach and usually started the text conversations. After a week or so, Chris’ lack of girlfriend drew attention.

“Beau hasn’t answered your phone in a while,” Zach pointed out, all nonchalance and too much disinterest.

Chris shrugged and knocked back a tequila shot, grabbing the lime that had come with Zach’s. Tradition dictated that they do at least three rounds of tequila; Chris always gave Zach his salt and Zach gave Chris the limes. “We broke up.”

“Sorry, man,” Zach smiled sadly. He sat up a little straighter, prepared for a real explanation. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I don’t have time for her.” True enough.

“What are you doing right now that’s got you so busy? You’re in some weird holding pattern.”

“Let’s just say…” Chris started, ready to come clean on a few things. He really ought to tell Zach, still didn’t have any significant reasons not to. Being set in his ways, though, made him evasive; also, a bar wasn’t the best place for the conversation. Zach licked salt off his own hand and took his drink. “I’m working on that back up plan you bitch so much about.”

Zach choked, coughing loudly and earning a few glances from bystanders. Chris licked his own hand, dumping the extra salt onto his palm and presenting it, well aware of Zach’s completely misguided notion that the extra salt stopped the sting of the liquor. Without missing a beat, Zach folded his fingers around Chris wrist, tongue licking over sensitive skin, sucking a little longer than was essential. The combination of smooth, surprisingly soft fingers and hot, rough tongue sent a jolt straight through Chris, bypassing everything to settle low in his stomach.

“What?” Zach forced out, eyes meeting Chris’ and lips brushing his palm before releasing him.

“Don’t…just don’t ask right now. I’ll…get into it later. Not tonight.”

“Are you trying to break into the porn industry?” A light brown amused gaze filtered through rather geeky glasses that shouldn’t work but somehow did.

“Yeah. I figure it’s my true calling.”

Slowly, as if in a frame-by-frame playback, Zach turned. He reached out, tracing his thumb along Chris’ lower lip. “A mouth like this? Yeah, I don’t doubt it.”

Chris wanted to close his eyes, desperately, but couldn’t. Out of habit, his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip and caught Zach’s fingertip in the process. The fleeting flash in those eyes and the shudder that seemed to run through Zach made it impossible for Chris to pull away. Instead, he embraced impetuosity, tilting forward enough to catch the digit between his lips. Chris swirled his tongue around it as he sucked, dragging his teeth along Zach’s finger as he pulled away.

It could have been too much, pushing too far, even if Zach wasn’t complaining. The risk wasn’t worth it. He’d been avoiding giving up some old secret, too afraid it would change their entire dynamic, but he was willing to do this? No. In true Chris Pine fashion, he played it off with a smirk and a wink before grabbing a new lime and shotglass. If his lips lingered on Zach’s fingers when the older man offered him the second lime, neither mentioned it.

****[6]****

When Beau called to wish Chris a safe trip, he sounded distracted and hungover. She didn’t call back, which was for the best. Definitely for the best when considering that all hell broke loose about three minutes afterward.

The press tour started the same week Jack Christian’s new novel hit the presses. They were doing a test run, printing up enough to send to all the important people (read: critics) before they did an actual release in a couple months. Chris, obviously, always got one of the first prints. If he ever became a bestseller, he could probably make some serious cash with these things, _actual_ first editions.

At any rate, he made sure he’d shoved it into his carry on before heading for the airport. Once you’ve spent months upon months writing and revising something, you should probably be ready to throw it on a shelf, save it on a flashdrive and proceed to ignore it for the rest of your life. Not Chris. He had to read it in all its printed glory and nitpick the things that should have been changed but had slipped through the cracks. 

His internal critic was pretty violent, but it couldn’t be helped. 

Preflight announcements made, take off accomplished, and hours of endless nothingness ahead gave Chris plenty of time to critique himself and his editor’s efficiency. He had a window seat, having begged for one because he oddly felt too closed in if he couldn’t see outside. Karl had ended up beside him but disappeared to harass Zoë or J.J. or someone as soon as he was able. Chris figured he was on his own for a while. 

He dug around until he pulled a black and red book from his bag. Chris hated the cover, it looked entirely too sinister, but they were waiting for alternative feedback.

He’d only just settled into his seat again, iPod blaring the playlist he’d compiled over the months he’d spent writing, when body weight threw his shoulder back into the seat. Scowling, he made to glare at Karl when Zach’s apologetic face came into view instead. 

“Sorry,” Zach smiled, pulling an earbud from Chris ear to press against his. “What are you doing? You should be acting insane like the rest of us.” 

Chris couldn’t tell if Zach was frustrated or curious. Instead of actually trying to work it out, he waved the book vaguely in Zach’s direction and paused his iPod. “I want to finish this before everything is exhaustion and alcohol.”

“Is this new?” Zach, having been through Chris’ book collection more times than either of them cared to count, tilted the book back. His eyes went wide. “When was this released?”

Shit. Chris hadn’t factored in that Zach would eventually see the cover. This was the first time anyone he’d known was actually interested enough to be excited about his book coming out (his mother did _not_ count). He should have anticipated, after he’d made a point to con Zach into in-depth discussions, that carrying around an unreleased novel by that very author would be remarkable.

“It’s not. This is an advanced copy.”

“Who did you fuck to get this?” The book was gone before Chris could blink.

“You bend a page and so help me, Quinto, you’ll wake up without chest hair.”

“Will not. You like it too much,” Zach was undeterred. “Seriously, Chris. Where did you get this?”

There were two ways to go about this. Chris could lie, point blank; he could tell Zach he shared an agent with Jack Christian or that they had met at Berkeley. The alternative was admitting he’d been sort of lying all along. Of the two options, neither was too fetching. Zach was looking at him expectantly, fingers idly smoothing his sleeve. They were close, Zach would have to understand.

“I always get advanced copies.” Yes, he was stalling. Try spending your life under the cloak of anonymity and try to anticipate your reaction to being confronted with a reason to own up to the truth.

“How? Can I borrow this?”

“Sure.” A few deep breaths later, Chris put a hand on Zach’s arm to push the book away. “I…” He started, ready to answer Zach’s other question, but Zach had moved on to being enthralled with the text on the dedication page (this one simply to his _pushy and persistent big sister_ ) . Sighing, Chris tugged on the book, refusing to meet Zach’s eyes. “I just got it a couple days ago. You can have it once I look it over.”

Zach pouted. He’d deny it with an unparalleled vehemence, but he was definitely pouting and Chris suspected he was one step away from breaking out the wide-eyed, kicked puppy look that he _knew_ Chris couldn’t resist.

“I’ll share if you promise to read fast,” he compromised. 

“Deal,” the older man grinned, holding the book at a position easy for them to both see. 

In the end, it really wasn’t a perfect option. Occasionally, Zach would reread paragraphs because he liked to read dialogue until he could hear the proper inflection in his head and some descriptions had Chris practically cringing, meaning he read them no less than three times while belittling his own words. They didn’t complain though, shifting closer and sinking in their seats as time passed and pages turned. 

Zoë threw a pillow at Chris when their light kept her awake in the row in front of them. Chris pressed it against the wall by his head and watched Zach finish the chapter before marking their place with the paper covering the hardback. He looked over his shoulder.

“I guess Karl’s going to want his seat back,” Zach whispered, mindful of the dozing people surrounding them.

“Fuck ‘im,” Chris was infinitely less respectful. He caught the back of Zach’s shirt, pulling him around in the seat. “Stay and talk to me.”

Head titled, the older man laughed as he took in Chris’ half-closed eyes and they way he slouched into the pillow. “You’re about to pass out.”

“Then pass out with me. It’s whatever.” And he didn’t realize his fingers were still wrapped in Zach’s shirt until he started shifting around, leaning his seat back a smidge. 

“So,” Zach started right when Chris’ breathing was starting to level off. “You never told me how you got your hands on this.”

As relaxed as he was feeling, Chris couldn’t deal with the reaction right now, the possible fall out. It would be fuck knew how long before Zach got through all the questions he would undoubtedly have. Instead, he shrugged one shoulder and burrowed deeper into his hoody. Zach pulled the front down over his eyes and Chris laughed.

“Remind me when we land; I’ll tell you then.”

The answering hum must have been assent because Chris didn’t remember either of them saying anything else until he woke up a couple hours later with Zach’s head on his shoulder, hand resting on his thigh.

  
****[7]****   


The whirlwind really started after that. More fans than Chris had ever seen were screaming their names, _his_ name, and everyone had a million questions. Unfortunately, those questions all tended to be the same and it got more boring, tedious, exhausting with every new interview. Luckily, everyone wanted to talk to Kirk and Spock _together_ , which surprised absolutely no one, so it at least provided some amusement.

When Chris really got bored, he rambled or started trying to surprise everyone involved. His publicist would either love him for appearing as educated as he was or hate him for breaking his clichéd, guy’s guy, semi-misogynistic reputation. That woman was the last of his worries, though. The first S.A.T. word he pulled out earned him a better reaction from Zach than he could have anticipated.

“I know you ace Times’ crosswords, but since when do you speak that way in public?” Zach finally asked when they were in transit between the room they’d been holed up in and some swanky restaurant for dinner. Everyone was in different cars, having finished interviews at slightly different times and ventured off in pairs to meet up with everyone and debate who had been subjected to the worst of the questioning.

“It was getting tedious. I was mixing it up,” Chris shrugged, tilting his head back to stare out the back window and into the pitch black sky.

There was silence, other than the sound of the engine, until Chris felt Zach shift. He kept his eyes closed when Zach was pressing against his side and ghosting his lips across Chris’ ear.

“I was impressed.”

Chris grinned. “Someone had to prove your grasp of Webster’s dictionary wasn’t unsurpassed. You were getting a superiority complex.”

“You plan on challenging me, Pine?”

Lifting his head at the low pitch, new timbre, Chris opened his eyes to realize just how close Zach was. He tilted his chin up in mock defiance, deeply aware of how their noses brushed and lips came into closer proximity. 

“I have been for a while. You’re a little slow on the uptake, babe.” 

His tongue darted out to moisten inexplicably dry lips before he smirked, glancing down then back to Zach’s eyes. Zach’s hand was on his neck suddenly, not pulling, just resting there. The car was slowing and Chris tilted forward the most minuscule, indistinguishable amount to brush their lips together. It was over as soon as it happened, the ghost of a touch, when Chris tilted away and bit his lip while Zach followed before they were being ushered out of the car.

Chris felt eyes on him the rest of the night, pretended he didn’t notice how dark Zach’s gaze was in the dim lights. When his editor called, he excused himself, squeezing Zach’s knee under the table in the process. He relayed the comments he had on the cover art and page format, infusing Zach’s views into his own without realizing it.

When he slid back into his seat at the table, Chris was informed that Zach and he had won the “worst of the day” bet. They had nearly every day since Australia (Karl acting crazy in an attempt to win didn’t count). After a few days of their winning streak, Zach and Chris developed their own bet about who (John or Karl) would realize this was futile and give up the game first. So far, Chris was convinced he’d be victorious, what with Karl getting as irritated as he was over the whole thing.

  


****[8]****  


Everyone ended up on just the wrong side of sober that night, three barely managing to stumble through the hotel lobby. Chris, on some type of _I’m-going-to-get-a-new-cover_ high combined with a nearly all-encompassing need to find any excuse to keep touching Zach in some way, was one of those three. Zach keyed into his own room when Chris couldn’t find his keycard and manhandled Chris into his own room through the connecting door.

Considering how grabby he was, it wasn’t a surprise that Chris managed to grip Zach’s arm even as he faceplanted into the pillows.

“Stay,” he muttered while simultaneously trying to kick off his shoes.

A rumbling sound that Chris should have been able to distinguish as laughter, if his brain wasn’t swishing around in the majority of a handle of whiskey, was his only answer before the bed dipped.

“You don’t plan on letting me go, do you?”

“No chance,” he slurred, throwing an arm over Zach’s chest. “Talk t’ me.”

Zach’s hand was heavy on his back, rubbing random patterns against his shirt before slipping under the fabric and skimming his skin. Chris hummed, tightening his arm and pressing closer.

“You always want to keep me talking, begging for my opinions on books most people haven’t read and starting arguments about something mundane.” If he hadn’t sounded so amused, Chris would have been affronted.

“Like your voice. An’ you ‘ave good ideas. Good for bus’ness.” Chris was barely awake, focusing too hard on Zach’s breathing and the soothing feeling of his fingers.

The silence felt loaded, but Chris was too far gone to work through the in depth processes required for thorough analysis. Not having this problem and ignoring Chris’ plight as he grappled with coherency, Zach decided he was willing to sort through drunken ramble.

“What do you mean? My voice is pretty sexy and I have some genius ideas, but how are those good for the movie?”

“Not the movie.” Chris got a hand under him to push up and look down at the other man. He’d had enough to drink that his face was a bit flushed and the product holding his hair in place had finally lost its battle with gravity and sweat. Shifting his arm away from Zach’s chest, balance leaning toward unsteady on the arm he was using for leverage, Chris brushed dark strands back from Zach’s forehead. He continued on, pressing against Zach’s scalp carefully and reveling in how soft his hair was. Nothing was clear, everything too blurry around the edges, other than Zach; his messy hair, the rough stubble, even the grip Zach now had on his waist, every last detail was sharply in focus.

And it was too much. It made Chris forget tact, planning skills. 

“Wha’ you said, ‘bout the cover.” He lost the battle with staying upright, sinking down to bury his head against Zach’s neck. “Kel ‘greed. Couldn’t argue wit’ it.”

“Who’s Kel?”

“Editor,” Chris told him as if it were obvious, barely able to remember that this was something Zach actually didn’t know.

Slowly, Zach turned on his side, nudging at Chris until he was mirroring the position. He ran his fingers over Chris’ face, tracing his nose, eyebrows, cheekbones; all the while, Chris blinked to stay awake. He completely missed the epiphany Zach seemed to be having. “Wait. What cover? You mean the Jack Christian book? How does this go together?”

Chris leaned forward enough to rub his eyes against Zach’s shoulder. “My books. Meant t’ tell you.” A yawn cut off whatever else he may have planned to say; not even Chris was currently able to remember by the time he could speak again. “Glad you liked ‘em, Zach. Real glad. Kinda nervous about it.”

He ended in a whisper, eyes closed. Zach let him wrap an arm around him, shifting until they were touching as much as possible, legs slotted together.

“What are you…” Zach shook his head, Chris felt it, and pressed a kiss to Chris’ hair. “Sleep. I’ll interrogate you in the morning.”

“’Kay. If you ‘ave to.” 

On principle, Chris wasn’t a cuddler, not really. But he didn’t act the same around Zach or maybe it had to do with how they hadn’t done more than accelerated platonic touching. At any rate, he was sort of clinging to the other man. He was just drawn to all the heat radiating from his body, even if they were both fully clothed. 

Zach didn’t seem to mind, letting Chris drape across him and press his face into his neck in his quest for a comfortable position. But Chris couldn’t seem to pass out. He was right on the edge, about to fall off into a drunken stupor; yet something was holding him bac. To the best of his ability, Chris sorted his thoughts, the words he’d just spoken already becoming incoherent. Finally, Zach sighed his name in feeble irritation and something seemed to click for him. Worry. That was the problem; he was worried.

“Zach!” Chris practically ripped himself away from Zach’s arms, startling them both.

Thirty seconds of blinking followed. “What? You okay?” 

“You mad?” 

Releasing a long breath, Zach laughed and coaxed Chris back down against him. “About what?”

“Not tellin’ you. Shouldn’t’a done ‘at.” There was so much remorse in his voice. Chris was trying to ensure he gave off as much sincerity as a drunk person could muster.

“It’s okay, baby.” Hands in his hair accompanied the promise. “We’ll talk about it after you sleep off the liquor.”

Concerns assuaged for the moment, Chris didn’t fight. Tomorrow he’d be embarrassed by being such a girl, but for the moment everything was fine. Everything except the sway and swirl of his surroundings, of course. The entire room was spinning clockwise while the bed moved in the opposite direction. He squeezed his eyes shut, relaxing against Zach because he wasn’t moving; he was solid and still, stability. Tomorrow they would deal with it. 

Tomorrow, that was his mantra as Chris finally gave unconsciousness its way. Unfortunately, tomorrow always came entirely too early when Chris had spent the night drinking.

Since the whole world tour thing had started, Chris was waking up disoriented more and more often. It always took him five minutes to remember he wasn’t in his own bed and another five to discover that he wasn’t in a spare room at his parents’, Katie’s, Zach’s or on John’s sofa. A few minutes after that (the time was getting longer the more they traveled) he’d recall what city he was in and maybe the hotel’s name. This particular morning took a smidge longer.

He hadn’t woken up with anyone in a while, not since before Beau left and definitely not during the tour. Chris fidgeted, breathing deeply and catching the faded scent of Zach’s cologne under the over starched linens and stale cigarette smoke. Carefully, weary, he cracked his eyes and was pleased to see he’d remembered to leave the drapes closed so as not to be assaulted by early morning light (how he always got the room facing the morning sun was a huge cosmic joke, to be sure). 

It would have been nice to spend a while just watching Zach sleep. It wasn’t something he’d never seen before, but it was always an attractive view. Zach looked younger when he slept, seemed more laid back than he was during his waking hours since he didn’t have the stress battering at him. Still, the alcohol he’d downed like water the night before was drawing him toward the bathroom. Extricating himself from where he’d wrapped around Zach was a slow and tedious process, what with Zach shifting to follow his movements, but he persevered.

The previous night didn’t replay in his mind until he was tasting Crest and gulping warm water as it rained down on him from the showerhead. Well…hell. It was kind of fuzzy, not a black out but disjointed and jumbled with random emotions Chris couldn’t reason out. He’d been obsessively worried about Zach’s reaction, but Zach hadn’t seemed like he was lying. Besides, Zach _wouldn’t_ lie to him, not on a level akin the Chris’ deception.

Chris couldn’t put it out of his mind though. Who knew how long Zach had been awake once he’d faded to black. Anything could have happened in that time. Head pressed to the cool tiles, Chris tried to chill the fuck out, giving himself until the hot water hitting his back started to itch.

  


****[9]****   


Chris expected Zach to either be sleeping or to have gone back to his own room. What he hadn’t expected was Zach to be leaning against the headboard with Jack Christian’s book open in his hands.

He was wearing his glasses and missing his shirt, which meant he’d been up and moving around but had come back to wait. Chris cleared his throat, standing in the center of the room, hand clasping the knot on the towel and waiting for a reaction.

Zach looked up, closing the book with a hotel pen holding his page. “Morning. How are you feeling?”

“Kind of slow,” Chris laughed, forcing himself to turn and search for a clean pair of boxers. “You sleep okay?”

“Yeah. You’re really warm,” he laughed. 

When he turned back around, he was at least partially clothed and biting his lip. “Thanks?”

“Chris,” Zach started, brows furrowing as he set his glasses on the nightstand. “Did you mean what you said? These,” he waved the book, “are yours?”

“Um, yeah. I know,” he shrugged and tried to adopt some detachment, “the name is ridiculously lame. In my defense, I was nineteen and going through a Kerouac phase.”

“I don’t care about the name. Come over here.” And he waited. Chris glanced up through his eyelashes, trying to gauge what was going on in Zach’s head through his expression but largely failing. So he took a deep breath, held it, and went to sit on the edge of the bed by Zach’s knees. “Are you telling me…sitting here, staring at the lamp and _honestly telling me_ that _you_ are Jack Christian?” 

“Yeah,” Chris whispered, licking his lips a couple times from habit. 

“Why am I only finding this out _now_?” In lieu of responding, Chris shrugged and moved to bite at a hangnail on his left index finger. Zach caught his hand before it reached his teeth. “Christopher.”

“A few reasons,” he sighed. His hand twitched as he fought the desire to grip, touch, hang on and keep Zach there long enough to explain. While Zach didn’t seem to be walking out on him, Chris was a touch insecure about it. “I never tell anyone, it never matters. Then I caught you reading my book – _my book_! – and all I could think was that our whole dynamic was going to change.”

“Nothing would have changed, not really. Why would you even entertain that idea?” His words were almost sharp, making Chris wince involuntarily, but Zach turned his hand and let Chris lace their fingers, clasp them together the way he needed to. “You asked so many damn questions, I never thought…I thought it was like our debates on Wells.”

Disappointment was flying at him from so many small words, random inflections that Chris almost wanted to just walk away and have this conversation via text message. Finally, though, Chris couldn’t stand it anymore and looked up. He met Zach’s eyes dead on, trying to make him understand that there hadn’t been any malicious intent.

“I wanted to know exactly what you thought of them, not just what you thought I wanted to hear,” Chris explained, squeezing Zach’s fingers, leaning closer in his intensity. “I respect your opinion, Zach, a _lot_. If you’d known, I figured you would censor.”

He nodded, seeming to accept this. “Why the pseudonym?”

Eyes on the ceiling, Chris shrugged. “I was nineteen and had this professor, kind of a genius. He pointed out that no one would take me seriously if looking me up got you articles on high school baseball.”

Even if Chris wanted that to be the end of the questioning, Zach clearly didn’t agree. “Why don’t you want to admit it now? Go public?”

Instantly, Chris shook his head. “I want people to read my books for content, not because of my name. I try to keep acting and writing separate because…it’s like I have these two different talents that are mutually exclusive.”

“I see.” Zach set the novel on the bedside table before laying a hand on Chris’ shoulder. He rubbed his thumb over Chris’ neck, collecting a few drops of water that had trailed down from his hair, rubbing it into his skin. “You shouldn’t have lied to me.”

“Zach-“

“Listen. You should have told me,” he frowned. “I would have still waxed poetic about the irony and ambiguity. Then I would have told you the characters have unimaginative names and the first book is bordering ostentatious.” Grip tight on his shoulder, Zach gave him a shake. “I don’t lie about the important things, Chris. You _know_ me better than that.”

“This wasn’t some grand scale, epic thing, though.” Self-deprecating wasn’t what Chris was shooting for, just pragmatism. “They’re just books.”

“But they’re important to _you_ ,” Zach pointed out, letting go of Chris’ hand and shifting up onto his knees to lean closer. “And, in case you missed it, they happen to be some of my favorites.”

A slow smile spread across Chris’ face. “Not fishing here, but yeah?”

“Yes.” He shuffled closer, hands running up to loop around Chris’ neck. “You’re more self-aware than that. You know you’re good, don’t pretend you’re surprised.”

Chris caught a finger in Zach’s belt loop to tug him a few more inches. “I know I am. People love Jack, but you’re a literature snob.”

“Sure,” Zach rolled his eyes. “This is coming from Mr. Dog-earring-pages-is-a-criminal-offense.”

Flopping back, Chris scoffed, fake glaring up at Zach. “Spend three quarters of a year writing something and see how you feel when it’s desecrated.”

They both chuckled quietly for a moment and Chris was so fucking elated he could barely stand it. This was fine, everything as all right. Zach wasn’t ready to disown him for hiding this and Chris had a half-naked Zachary Quinto in his bed. Win-win. Zach froze suddenly, eyes gone wide.

“ _Chris_ ,” Zach whispered, leaning over him, expression deep. “You were a published author before you were twenty.”

“Well, yeah.” It was so obvious that Chris snickered, cutting off abruptly when Zach’s mouth descended on his. Without so much as a pause, Chris’ body reacted, surging forward to crush their lips together with a bit more force. Zach let out a grunt, hands gripping Chris’ biceps as Chris went for his hair.

“God,” Zach pulled away to mutter, mouth moving down Chris’ neck. “Do you have any. Fucking. Idea. Just how _sexy_. That is?” It would have been easy to miss the words, being said into his skin as they were.

“Never thought about it,” Chris smirked, wondering how he’d missed how turned on Zach would be by this new knowledge. “Want to show me?”

At this point, Chris could die a happy man. After _months_ of dancing around each other, touching and playing before pulling away, the tension was finally breaking. Zach’s hands were everywhere, nails raking down his side and up his stomach while his tongue trailed lower to run over his nipples in turn. Chris arched into the contact getting over the minor shock value and pushing up the bed, pulling Zach with him.

  
****[10]****   


Time lost all meaning. Somehow, they managed to shove clothing out of the way, Zach’s stupid jeans giving them the most trouble. They were focused, though, intent on one thing and only that: getting as much skin-on-skin contact as possible. And it was fucking _glorious_.

There should probably have been a power struggle but Chris didn’t give a fuck what happened as long as Zach was moving against him. God, the way that man moved! Chris dug his fingertips into Zach’s back, pulling until he had more of Zach’s weight pressing him into the mattress. 

Their mouths barely detached for a second, tongues twining as Zach ground their hips together. Chris gasped against Zach’s mouth when their cocks brushed together, a hand sliding down to squeeze Zach’s ass and force more harsh contact, needing more friction. It wasn’t enough and he was only vaguely aware of how many times “more” escaped his lips. 

Zach shifted, groaning loudly at the momentary loss of contact before he snaked a hand between their bodies to wrap around both their lengths. Chris licked at the column of Zach throat, sucking a mark into his shoulder as Zach’s hand moved in fluid motions. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied moaning Zach’s name and letting every twist of the other man’s wrist set his nerves on fire, he may have been amused by just how easily they fell into a rhythm of thrusts that worked for them both.

The pattern faltered slightly, Zach flicking his thumb over the head of Chris’ cock, pressing roughly around the ridge. 

“Fuck, Chris,” Zach whimpered. “Come for me, baby. Want to see you,” he was murmuring, panting. The world went white, Chris thrusting hard into Zach’s hand and tugging him into a kiss guaranteed to bruise both their mouths more so than they already were. 

Even as Zach stroked him through it, the glide much smoother, Chris started to come back to himself. He batted Zach’s hand away, using his own come to ease his strokes over Zach. A twist of the wrist followed by a rough jerk and a sharp bite to the curve of Zach’s shoulder and the older man was muttering nonsense broken up by Chris’ name. He buried his face against Chris’ chest, collapsing against him when the shaking subsided.

Neither moved for a while, trying to breathe again. Zach finally lifted himself off Chris, nose wrinkling when he couldn’t be bothered to break contact long enough to clean them off. Out of no where, Chris laughed, breathless and quiet, but laughter all the same.

“That’s comforting,” Zach smirked, catching Chris’ chin to turn his face and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Zach,” Chris started when he was back in control. “You realize this looks like you’re only interested in sex with Jack Christian?”

“I am. He’s damn hot, kind of smart, almost funny, sort of my best friend.” 

In one swift movement, Chris had rolled onto Zach, trapping his hands above his head. “Literary whore.”

He seemed to consider this, staring up at Chris, pupils still blown slightly too wide and looking every bit the picture of debauchery. “There are worse things.”

Karl came banging on the door not ten minutes later, the typical sign that the others were headed for breakfast but a joint shower was more pressing.

  
****[Epilogue]****   


Chris Pine is an actor. He picks his roles for reasons no one, even his agent, quite understands. It’s not likely that he’ll feel the need to ever truly explain himself. If something interests him, he works for it and that’s all there is to it. Sometimes, when things get a little too crazy, he vanishes off everyone’s radar for a while. When he gets too wrapped up in his own head, no one can comprehend his reasoning, or lack thereof. Which isn’t entirely true because Zach’s always going to make sure he eats when he’s obsessed with a particular piece of characterization. He’ll always drag Chris out when he’s in a fit waiting for his editor to get back to him or a casting director to make a decision. When it comes right down to it, Chris sort of has it all.

Jack Christian is an author. He writes fiction and evades all mentions of his personal life. There are few people who have him figured out, understand where he actually stands on the issues he discusses. His stand on matters always seems neutral, both sides open equally for mockery even when his readers go a little crazy over it. His last novel isn’t a best seller, not yet, but it’s a close thing. The critics are impressed with how he avoids bowing to the pressure for a perfect ending; it’s more realistic that way. Jack looks good on paper: hardworking, intelligent, dedicated. 

But Jack’s nearly as fictional as the mysteries he writes. His readers don’t know this, but Chris’ people, the ones that matter, they do. They don’t call it a lie; it’s not really, more of an omission.


End file.
